I Swear to God
Watch me walk out of here or be devoured alive.
Daniel, into the mouths of lions.
- Unknown
Lorcan.
Lorcan.
Damn it. Damn him. Of all the ways Elide Lochan didn’t want to waste her life, the Miami club scene had to be at the top of the list. Yet here she sat, in a club, waiting for him, music pounding directly into her temples. 27 years old, and she had earned the goddamned right to no longer blast her brain cells out on a Friday night. Flagging down the bartender, Elide started on her second tonic (just tonic) and kept. fucking. waiting.
“Elide!” Asterin, her best friend’s cousin waved through the crowd, and my god a friendly face right now … Elide hugged the other woman real hard. “What the hell are you doing here?” Asterin shouted over the music and the shit singing and the thundering noise.
“Lorcan!” Elide yelled back, as if that explained everything. Because. Well. It did.
“Where is he?” Asterin asked, not even bothering to look around. Which. Really? Did everyone have to know that her boyfriend was just a little bit terrible at showing up to anything on goddamned time?
“I’m waiting.” Elide shrugged and prayed for the end of the world. A rain of frogs. A swarm of locusts. A downed Wi-Fi signal. Anything to wrap this conversation up like now.
“I’ll text Manon – let her know you’re here.”
“Oh no, you don’t need to – ” It didn’t work. Asterin was already typing into her phone, studiously ignoring everything Elide said. Traitor.
“You good?” Asterin asked, glancing up from her phone, those cheekbones that would make a sculptor weep ignited in white-blue light. “My set starts in ten and I need to prep.”
“Yeah, yeah, get out of here.” Elide responded, trying to subtly look for Lorcan in the smash of people. No such fucking luck. “Can’t wait to hear you.”
“Have some fun tonight. Although with Lorcan …”
“Yes, thank you Asterin.”
“Anytime!” Throwing Elide a smile and wink, Asterin slipped through the sea of bodies like a fish in water, a native in her element. Blond hair cascaded down her back in waves, catching and refracting the neon lights. Heads turned and Asterin grinned, waved, at total ease.
Sometimes, some nights, Elide stared into the bathroom mirror and wondered what it felt like to live with the surety of certainty. To be grounded down. Doubtless. Free.
Take a deep breath, take a deep goddamned breath Elide.
Craning her neck, she looked for Lorcan again. He wasn’t exactly easy to miss, especially now that he had that man-bun. Six and a half feet tall (as Lorcan was keen to remind everyone all the fucking time), and yet he felt the need to add another two inches. Ridiculous. And obvious. And currently not present.
Hissing through her teeth, Elide seriously contemplated just ordering shots, downing them, and getting the hell out of here. Three problems with that plan: shots were expensive and she was poor as shit, downing them would give her a headache and this place was already a migraine waiting to happen, and, well, she really wanted to see her boyfriend.
Call her a romantic. Call her a fool. Her friends and family were certainly fond of the latter.
Damn them all.
“What’s a girl like you doing in an establishment like this?”
A grin broke across Elide’s face, but she waited a long second before turning around. When she did, it brought her face to face with Manon Blackbeak, her childhood love, her teenage dream, her best friend on this fucking earth. Manon smiled back, a quirk of her lips, looking like a goddamned … well, have you ever felt your heart stop, just for a beat?
Like that.
“I told Asterin not to bother you.”
“Well thank god Asterin doesn’t listen to you.” Shooting the man occupying the bar stool next to Elide a look that promised unfortunate incidents in even more unfortunate places, Manon only had to wait a moment before he scrammed. Flicking her sheet of silvery blond hair over one shoulder, Manon settled next to Elide, resting her elbows onto the bar and taking the life of her suit jacket into her hands. In true Manon fashion, she wasn’t wearing a shirt underneath it, just a long gold pendant that dipped low between the curve of her breasts.
“Nice suit.” Elide quipped, because she could do this now. Look at Manon, compliment Manon, and not lose her fucking mind. It had only taken year after year of watching Manon take woman after woman home. Just repeated blunt force trauma. Now, she was over it. Over everything. Over Manon.
“Nice jeans.” Manon shot back.
“Okay, just so you know, I didn’t want to be here in the first place.” And maybe she wore her third best jeans to prove the point.
“That much is obvious.”
In response, Elide flipped Manon off.
“El, I’ve seen you try. This is not you trying.” Manon gave Elide one her sharp smiles, all white teeth and dark lipstick.
“Aren’t you busy?”
“Yes.” Manon responded simply. Leaning over, she gestured at the bartender. “Anything she wants is on the house.”
“Of course, Ms. Blackbeak,” he responded, immediately reaching over to refill Elide’s glass.
“Manon!” Elide hissed. “I can buy my own drinks.”
Manon, for her part, didn’t seem overly concerned. Ordering a glass of whiskey, she coolly scanned Elide up and down. “I own this club. Hell – I own Miami’s nightlife. Drinks are on the house, babe.” At that old nickname, Elide rolled her eyes and accepted the glass of tonic water. Before she could drink, Manon stole it and took a sip, making a face. “Seriously? You heard me say drinks are covered, right?”
“Yes, Manon. Despite Asterin’s best efforts, I still have eardrums.”
“Good. You should listen to your elders.”
“You’re 28, Blackbeak. Barely one year on me, oh wise one.”
The music ramped up and they both glanced over to where Asterin proved, once again, why she was one of the top DJs in the game. Feral and wild and a forest fire – Elide didn’t belong to the Miami underworld, but with Asterin at the helm, she’d dive in and follow the woman anywhere.
No way Asterin could see them, but Manon raised her glass in a toast to her cousin anyway. Mirroring the movement, Elide took a long drink. Despite the faces Manon made, Elide actually liked tonic water. She liked being sober at clubs even more. Especially if Lorcan decided to take tonight as opportunity to cut loose. Someone had to be sane enough to still order an Uber.
“Salvaterre late?” Manon asked. The again went unspoken. It was a very loud unspoken.
“Just a little.” Elide tried to casually look for Lorcan again, really wanting to avoid this particular conversation. Subtle wasn’t Manon’s middle name (it’s Elizabeth, in case anyone’s fucking wondering), and she didn’t like Elide’s boyfriend. That opinion made itself known.
“Mhmm.” Manon hummed, sipping her whiskey.
“You know I don’t need a babysitter.”
“You know I like seeing you.”
“Could’ve fooled me.” Elide tried not to let any bitterness seep into her voice. She didn’t try very hard. “It’s been two weeks since we’ve hung out. You didn't even answer my texts yesterday. But I saw your Instagram with that woman you're dating, what’s her name? Celina? Glad you guys are getting along so well.”
So the bitterness seeped out anyway.
“I’m sorry.” Manon reached forward, her silver rings cool against Elide’s overheated palm. “We are not dating. More of a one night thing. And my fucking grandmother's had me – ”
But whatever shit Manon’s bitch of a grandmother had been stirring got cut off by the arrival of one Lorcan Salvaterre, all six foot five of him (plus two-inch bun).
“Elide!” Lorcan’s deep voice cut right through the nightclub’s noise and he swept her off the bar stool into a hug. Elide hugged him back, losing herself in the scent of expensive cologne and the warmth radiating off his skin. The man’s muscles had muscles. There were some distinct … benefits to dating a professional hockey player. Not bothering to set Elide back on the floor, Lorcan kissed her, a deep, possessive thing. Elide pulled back before the rating could escalate past PG-13, but her cheeks were flushed.
Damn.
“Sorry I’m late.” Lorcan said, kissing her again. Twice. Three times. “Got caught up with the boys.” His teammates, bros to their very bro-y cores, were further down the bar cheering and ordering shots.
“It’s fine.” Elide replied, like it really was.
When her feet finally met solid ground, Elide ran a hand through the mass of her brown hair and tried take a deep breath. She would need that breath in a second, because Manon was standing up and facing Lorcan, looking distinctly unimpressed. In five-inch heels, she clocked 6” 1’ and still didn't reach his eye height. But in a fight, Elide would put her money on Manon every time. She had seen the other woman box and Manon was a bitch.
“Salvaterre.” Manon said, voice cold.
“Blackbeak.” Lorcan’s tone wasn’t any more welcoming.
“Late. Again.” Remember what Elide said about Manon making her opinions known? Well here it was in action. Great, wonderful, please enjoy the shitshow.
Interrupting the standoff and the idiotic thing Lorcan was definitely about to say, Elide grabbed his hand and said, “You’re here now. Let’s go do … whatever the hell it is people do at clubs.”
“Dancing, babe.” Lorcan flashed her a smile and curled an arm around her waist, hand dipping to cup her ass. Manon’s face never cracked – she never cracked – but when Lorcan called Elide ‘babe’ something in her amber eyes went sharp, like splinters.
“Sure, okay.” Elide shrugged and smiled, as if one action could cancel out the other.
Tipping her head to the side, Manon watched Elide, the gold flecks in her eyes igniting up in the dark room. “Text me,” Elide said to her in lieu of I’m fine. Knocking back the rest of her whiskey, Manon’s eyes cut over to Lorcan, who just winked.
“Have a nice night.” Manon said in reply, her voice flat.
“Oh, we will.” Lovely. Thanks Lorcan for diffusing the situation.
Grabbing Lorcan’s hand, Elide started dragging him towards the dance floor. No more awkward conversations tonight, no more. Good god please. Waving at Manon with her free hand, Elide shouted again, “Text me!”
The last thing she saw Manon do was run a perfectly manicured hand through her perfect silvery-blond hair like … maybe she felt just a little bit fucking frustrated. Like maybe everything wasn't perfect. Then the crowd and the lights swallowed them, and Manon was gone.
Lorcan danced past midnight, past one a.m., and Elide kept up, even when the old injury in her ankle throbbed. Limp be fucking damned. She’d pay for it tomorrow, and the next day, and the next day, but just for tonight she wanted to pretend that this couldn’t hold her down. Not anymore.
(A wish is fool’s gold.)
When they finally made it back to Lorcan’s apartment, he kissed her and kissed her as they stumbled back towards his bed. Burying the ache from her ankle back, far back, in her mind, Elide fell into the familiar motion of them. They made love, fucked, whatever word you want to call it – Elide had Lorcan between her legs and lost herself in the steady, deep pressure of how he thrust into her. Nails running up and down Lorcan’s back, not bothering for gentle, Elide finally came and she didn’t think at all. When Lorcan came, shuddering, hips jerking, Elide cradled him close, chest to chest, heart beat against heart beat.
This. This is what no one else could understand. She loved him. She held him close. She held on.